


Whatever Doesn't Kill Ya, Amirite?

by alex_caligari



Category: Good Omens (TV), Kingsman (Movies), Original Work, Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Bullying, Captured, Explosions, Human shield, Hypothermia, Injury, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Haircuts, Truth Serum, Unintentionally Soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2019-07-20 13:45:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 13,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16138490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alex_caligari/pseuds/alex_caligari
Summary: A collection of one-shots for my Bad Things Happen Bingo card.





	1. Accidentally Hurt by a Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Accidentally hurt by a friend" featuring Lance was requested by annac27 on Instagram.

The word “explosions” came up in Blade missions far too frequently in Keith’s opinion. “Undetected” would have been better, or “get out in one piece.” Somehow, the Blade always managed to miss those last two.

Keith and an operative named Varn had infiltrated a supply warehouse that served as a drop-off point for smugglers. A lot of illegal trading went on with Galra posts too far from the core of the empire to be noticed, and Kolivan figured that if they weakened the supply chain, the edges would start to crumble.

It was a good plan in theory. Take out non-essential supplies and a few criminals to boot. If their intel was good, then the remote mines they were planting would level not only the building, but the foundation, sending the whole mess seventy metres into a sinkhole. And if the intel was bad, well, there would still be a big explosion. Win-win.

“I’m finished on this side,” Varn said over the comm. “Meet you back at the ship, _krutzt_.”

“Copy that,” Keith replied. As far as operatives went, Varn had the closest to a sense of humour possible. His nickname for Keith was the Galran equivalent of “short stack.”

If Varn was finished, then they wouldn’t wait long to blow the mines. Keith placed and armed his last one when he overheard a snatch of conversation from the smugglers.

Few people were in the warehouse, maybe half a dozen, and they were busy loading crates onto a ship. Most of them were comparing scars and kills, and so Keith had stopped listening. Until he heard—

“I once popped a guy from half a click away,” said a voice, brighter and louder than the others. “While hallucinating after three days in the desert. _And_ I was carrying Nuvian diamonds.”

Keith froze. _Dear fuck, please don’t let that be who I think it is._

“But those explode when wet,” said a smuggler.

“Yup,” said the voice that Keith really wished he didn’t recognize. “That’s why I was hallucinating. No water allowed, my friend. It’s also why the diamonds had to go through the desert. I spent a week in medi, but the payout was well worth it.”

Keith peered around a crate. There was Lance in full Coran-inspired disguise and pretending to be a smuggler, talking big. _What the hell was he doing here? Where were the others?_

“I don’t believe it,” said a second smuggler. He had a scar across his mouth, pulling it down into a sneer.

Lance shrugged. “Believe it or don’t, I don’t care. I just know that I got a wicked scar from breaking the diamonds out in the first place.” He pulled up his sleeve to show off a mark that Keith knew had come from Lance sliding wildly across the castleship floor and slamming into the kitchen counter.

There were hums of awe from the smugglers. Keith rolled his eyes.

“Keith.” It was Varn. “The mines need to blow before they take that shipment away. You have five doboshes.”

“Copy,” Keith muttered. “I’m on my way.” But he didn’t move. He had to get Lance out of here without blowing Lance’s cover or revealing the presence of the Blade. _Shit, shit, shit, shit_.

Well, Shiro had always said to play to his strengths. Time to create a distraction.

Keith raced back the way he’d come, darting between the stacks of crates and oddly shaped boxes. In a corner was a crate of knock-off Hologlam-brand silks, and Keith knotted several together to make a crude wick. The synthetic material burned slowly, but created a lot of smoke. Hopefully it would be enough to get everyone out.

The smugglers were shouting as Keith ran back. He saw them streaming for the exit, Lance included. Keith allowed himself a small breath of relief as he turned to the carefully hidden hole he had originally crawled in through.

He was almost there when two things happened. One was an angry shout from the scarred smuggler. The other was the sound of a punch.

Keith turned. The scarred smuggler crowded Lance against the crate they had been emptying. Lance had an arm wrapped around his stomach.

“You planned this,” the smuggler said. “Scare away all the weak ones and keep the loot for yourself.”

“No, I have no idea what’s going on,” Lance said. “You think I would burn down a building with me inside?”

The smoke got thicker, and the smuggler made a decision. “I don’t think you thought this all the way through,” he said and cold-clocked Lance before turning tail.

Keith was already running before Lance hit the ground.

“Lance, come on, we need to go.” Keith grabbed Lance under his arms and hauled him upright.

“What—Keith?” Lance blinked and tried to focus. “What are you doing here?”

“No time, just run. Bombs.” Keith pulled Lance forward to the escape hole, hearing an ever-louder countdown in his head.

There was no time left.

The first mine blew as Keith dove for the hole, Lance right behind him. The shockwave slammed into them and Lance cried out, but Keith ignored it in favour of pulling them both outside. He didn’t stop until they had cleared the building and ducked behind some rubble on the outskirts of the blast radius.

Keith looked back. The warehouse was levelled, but the ground beneath it hadn't collapsed. Small mercies for bad intel.

“Well, I've had narrower escapes,” Keith said, deactivating his mask. “I need to get back to the ship before they leave. Where's your ride?” He turned back to Lance and finally noticed how pale he was under the scratches and soot. “Lance?”

“Not quite the daring escape I imagined,” Lance said and tipped forward.

Keith caught him under his arms and lowered him to the ground. Then he caught sight of Lance’s back.

A piece of shrapnel was sticking out of his shoulder. Blood painted a bullseye around it, and the all-too-familiar smell made Keith flinch back. If Lance had been wearing his paladin armour, it would have deflected the debris, but the shard had torn right through his rough coat. His breath came in tight, short gasps.

“How bad is it?” Lance said.

Keith swallowed. “It’s a piece of metal. Five inches long. Maybe an inch deep?” He faced Lance as a terrible thought occurred. “Take a deep breath.”

“You’re asking a lot there, buddy.” But he did as he was told before breaking off with a pained gasp.

Keith nodded; his airways were clear. The metal hadn’t punctured a lung, at least. “Maybe I can—” He reached for the metal, but Lance cried out, “Don’t touch it!”

“I can pull it out,” Keith insisted.

Lance shook his head. “Don’t know what damage it did. Might cause more bleeding. Or nerve damage.”

Keith blanched. If Lance’s arm was damaged, how would it affect his piloting and fighting skills?

_I might have crippled him._

Lance leaned against the boulder, wincing as he moved. “What happened? Did the smugglers set the bombs?”

Keith knelt next to Lance. “Ah, no. That was us.” He waved to his Blade uniform.

Lance grimaced. “Great. I get skewered because Kolivan couldn’t be bothered telling us what buildings he was blowing up.”

“You didn’t tell us you were going to be there, either!” Keith pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to calm down. “Where are the others? And why were you in there alone?”

Lance rubbed at his face. A small cut smeared blood across his cheek. “I was there to get some contacts for anti-Galra pirates. If they’re undermining the empire, they can’t be too keen on protecting it. Or I was until it was literally shot to hell.”

“No one was supposed to be there,” Keith said. “It’s not my fault if criminals don’t update their itinerary.” He peered around the rubble, but no one seemed to be after them. “Why am I even arguing about this with you?”

Lance ignored him. “The others didn’t want to be picked up by the smugglers’ equipment. They’re back on the castleship. Pidge is cloaked on the far side of the continent. She’s scheduled to pick me up in ten minutes.”

“Call her now. You need to get into a pod.”

Lance stared at him, pale and pinched, and said, “How long until the Blade leaves without you?”

“They won’t,” Keith said.

“Liar.”

“Call Pidge.”

Lane spread his hands. He could barely lift the right one. “No communicator. Can’t be wearing a wire among thieves.”

Keith scoffed. “How are you guys still functioning? You can’t tell me that Shiro thought this was a good idea.”

Lance looked away, face carefully blank. “Hey, things might be a little weird, but we’re doing fine.”

“Weird how?”

Lance shook his head. “You want to know, you ask him yourself. And this whole plan would have worked if it wasn’t for you and your bomb-happy anarchists.”

“We’re not—it was still a terrible plan!”

“Only because you blew me up.” He glared at Keith.

Keith growled and turned away. “Varn,” he said into his comm. “There’s been a complication. I need you to stick around until I get there.”

“ _Krutzt_ , glad to hear you made it out of there. I can give you a few more doboshes, but there are smuggler ships all over this place. If we don’t leave soon, we’re going to be discovered.”

“Just—I’ll be there soon, just hold on.”

Lance was watching him as he turned back. “You need to leave, don’t you?”

Keith scowled. “Not while you’re like this.”

“No, you need to go before they leave without you,” Lance said. He gave Keith a twisted smile. “Isn’t that their motto, leave any man behind?” His eyes and voice dropped. “We wouldn’t do that to you.”

“We’re not having this argument now,” Keith said.

“Oh yeah?” Lance gripped Keith’s wrist with a surprising amount of force. “Then when? Because we certainly didn’t talk about it on the castleship, where everyone was safe and calm. No, right now, I’m gravely injured, out of my mind on adrenaline and endorphins, and stuck here with you. I think this is a perfect time to talk about it.”

Something exploding in the warehouse had them ducking lower behind the rubble. Keith listened to Lance’s harsh breathing and realized he hadn’t let go of Keith’s wrist.

“They’re not good for you, Keith,” Lance said. “They’re making you colder. More distant. Do you even remember what it was like being with us?” Lance’s grip failed, and his hand slid from Keith’s arm. “We were your family.”

_Damn_. Keith didn’t have a direct line to the lions anymore; he couldn’t call Pidge unless she called him first. He couldn’t stay, but he couldn’t go, either.

Lance saw the conflict on his face. “Go. If you miss your ride, Kolivan might never let you back into his secret club. Pidge will be here soon.”

Keith ducked and pressed his forehead against Lance’s. “I’m sorry.” He scrambled over the rubble and came back with a small handgun the smugglers had dropped. At least Lance wouldn’t be left defenceless.

Lance’s lips thinned as he checked the gun over. He nodded and said without looking up, “Let us know when you’re safe.”

“I will.” Then Keith took off running. He didn’t dare look back.


	2. Captive Push

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon on Tumblr asked for "Captive Push" featuring Hunk.

It was more an annoyance than anything.

Hunk had faced more than his fair share of terrible situations, ones where a bad call or a hesitation could result in someone—himself included—dying. Some nights he shook awake from nightmares of what-ifs and could-have-beens and would have to remind himself that everything was fine, they were safe, they were _fine_.

He didn’t think this would be one of those times.

“Keep moving, maggot!” shouted the alien cattle rustler behind him, giving Hunk a shove in the back with a stick.

“Hey, alright, alright, no need to get worked up about it,” Hunk said. The cattle rustler snorted and gave Hunk another shove for good measure.

As they walked through the desert, Hunk wondered if it would be better to wait for rescue, or just get out of this situation himself. Because he could picture the ribbing Lance would give him when the others found out that Hunk had been captured by ewoks.

Okay, yeah, maybe if ewoks were based on wolverines instead of teddy bears, then these aliens would resemble them more closely. But they were still short, fuzzy aliens armed with _sticks_ stealing space cattle and had taken Hunk hostage when he was unlucky enough to stumble on their operation.

Hunk sighed. Escaping would be easy. They had tied his hands behind his back, but the rope was thin and frayed. Aside from their sticks, the aliens didn’t have anything lethal on them. Hunk could have simply refused to move, and they wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it. But the more he listened to them, the more he felt, well, _sorry_ for them.

The one in front wore a tunic that looked like it was made out of a burlap sack. It scratched at one of its horns and called to the other one, “How much do you think we’ll get for him?”

“Depends,” said the one with the stick. Its tunic was sewn-together scraps of leather. “Do we want to sell him, or eat him?”

“Oh, brother,” Hunk muttered as the two rustlers cackled.

By the time the hazy edges of a camp appeared, Hunk’s patience was wearing thin. His armour was good at regulating temperature, but the sun still beat down hard. Neither of the aliens carried any water, and Hunk didn’t want to be passing out from dehydration on top of everything. He needed to take action.

“So,” he started, “how long have you two been cattle rustling?”

“Not long,” said the one in front as the same time the other hissed, “Shut it.”

“What got you into it?” Hunk continued. “Is it like a family business, or you had to get money to save the farm, or you just enjoy doing it?”

“Not one word, Kyte,” the one with the stick said.

Hunk caught the alien’s eye as it turned to glare at the other one. “Kyte? That’s a cool name. Back home, we have things called kites that we fly around. We make them look like birds or butterflies. Sometimes dragons.”

“What’s a dragon?” Kyte asked.

“Oh, it’s really cool,” Hunk said, getting into the groove. “It’s a giant flying beast with a long scaly body and fire for breath. They swoop out of the sky and steal people.”

“Whoa,” Kyte said as the other alien muttered, “That’s it, we’re eating him.”

Hunk got the feeling that Kyte was a lot younger than his bravado let on. Jerking his head to the other alien, Hunk said, “You follow this guy everywhere?”

“Kym’s my brother,” Kyte said.

“Older brother, I bet.”

Kyte’s doleful look spoke volumes.

“So why do this stuff?” Hunk leaned down as much as he could without losing his balance. “You don’t have to do everything he says.”

“He needs me,” Kyte said, but he looked uncertain.

“Will you stop talking to him?” growled Kym. He lashed out with his stick, catching Hunk behind his knee. Hunk stumbled, one knee hitting the dirt before he managed to catch himself with his other foot. It put Kym’s stick closer to Hunk’s face than he was comfortable with.

“Careful,” yelled Kyte.

Kym threw his hands in the air, shaking his stick and the rope. “Why do you even care? This is our first big haul in months and it could mean eating roasted palliver fish forever. But you have to go soft and start worrying more about our meal ticket than your own brother. _Why do you have to screw this up?_ ”

Kyte stalked up to his brother and shoved a finger into his chest. “Why do _you_ never let me take charge? We always have to do what you say and look where we are. Still scrambling in the dirt.”

“Okay,” Hunk said. “This is getting out of hand.” He pivoted around his knee, ripping the rope out of Kym’s hands. A sharp strike of his wrists against his lower back snapped the bindings, and suddenly the cattle rustlers realized how out of their league they were as Hunk stood to his full height.

“Sounds like you two have a lot of family baggage to work through,” Hunk continued. “And while you are technically criminals, you’re so bad at it that I’ll overlook it this one time. So, here’s what’s going to happen instead.” He cracked the rope between his hands for good measure.

Kym stepped forward. “Don’t you dare hurt Kyte.”

“See, that’s the family attitude I expected. No one is going to get hurt. But we’re all going to walk to that camp and I’m going to call my friends and then _I’m leaving_. But don’t think that’s the end of it. Oh, no.”

Hunk started pacing in front of them. “We know you’re here. We can keep an eye on you. And if you stick one toe out of line, we—” He thought for a second. Threats weren’t his strong suit. “We’ll send a dragon after you.”

Kym growled and made as if to launch himself forward with the stick. Hunk plucked it out of his hands and snapped it over his knee. “Sound like a deal?” Hunk asked.

Kym and Kyte shared a look, then nodded.

“Good.”

The brothers led the way as Hunk followed. His helmet comm was filled with static, but he kept trying to call the others. Hopefully, something would get through.

The camp, when they reached it, was little more than a couple of tents thrown together and covered in camouflaged tarps.

“Where’s your radio?” Hunk said, looking around. Would their radio even reach past the atmosphere? He was already planning how to increase the broadcast range when he heard a high-pitched whine and turned.

Kym was holding a blaster.

“Oh-kay,” Hunk said as he slowly raised his hands. He glanced at Kyte. “You’re fine with this?”

“Yup,” Kyte said cheerfully. “Kym may be a dick, but he’s not going to let anyone boss me around except for him.”

“That’s right,” Kym said.

“Right.” Hunk thought quickly. “Right, okay, that’s fine. Nobody wants to get hurt here, especially me. Just let me use your radio and we can all be on our way. No harm, no foul, right?”

“Wrong,” Kym said. He waved the gun around. “The bounty only said you were wanted alive, not whole.”

“Whoa, whoa, wait a second here. Let’s all take a moment to think about this—”

And then the Red Lion came screaming out of the sky towards them.

“It’s a dragon!” shrieked Kyte. “He was right!”

Red’s laser blast narrowly missed Kym, who dropped the gun, grabbed Kyte, and took off for the nearest tent.

Red landed, and Keith appeared at her mouth. “Heard you might need a ride.”

“Jesus, Keith, could you cut it any closer?” Hunk scrambled up to the lion, grabbing Keith’s hand as he hauled Hunk in.

“You looked like you had everything under control.” Keith grinned as he took the pilot’s seat. “I’m sure you had those weasels shaking in their boots.”

Hunk pointed a finger at Keith. “Not a word to Lance.”

Keith laughed. “I won't tell a soul.”


	3. Forced to Kneel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Forced to Kneel" featuring Keith was requested by glow--squid over on Tumblr. Note that this has bullies using not-great language, so there's that.

Keith landed one good punch before he was kicked to the ground. The other cadet was the same age, but had hit a growth spurt that put him several inches taller than Keith and at least fifty pounds heavier. The kid—Dave? Dan?—was a wall of muscle and aggression.

Not that that ever stopped Keith.

“Take it back,” he yelled as he scrambled up.

“No,” Dan said. He was flanked by half a dozen other students, who cut them off from being seen by the rest of the Garrison mess hall.

“Take. It. Back,” Keith said.

Dan smirked. “Take what back?”

Keith’s stomach was hot, and his skin felt full of prickles. “What you said about—about—”

A blond boy, Riley, laughed. “The loser can’t even say his name. You really were in love with Shirogane, weren’t you?”

“Is that why you always got such high marks?” Dan asked. “You were letting him bend you over his desk? Or maybe it was the other way around—”

Keith saw white and launched himself at Dan. He feinted a body hit and struck up at the opening Dan left on his other side. Riley tried to grab him, but Keith twisted around and used his momentum to kick him in the diaphragm. Riley fell back, winded, but a third boy replaced him. Keith fought dirty, aiming for throats and kidneys and groins, but he was too angry, and their numbers were too many.

Someone looped their arms around Keith’s and tried to brace his shoulders against themselves. Keith pushed back and curled up, meaning to kick his legs down and throw the person over his shoulder—a move Shiro had taught him—when a fist hit him in the ribs. He lost his momentum and couldn’t prevent his knees being kicked out from under him. Keith was pushed to the ground and his hair yanked back, forcing him to look up at Dan.

Dan wiped the blood from his split lip and had murder in his eyes. He stared at Keith, exposed and kneeling on the floor, and Keith knew it was going to be bad.

_If you can’t fight back, don’t give them the satisfaction of seeing you break._

Keith took a deep breath and tried to ready himself.

“You want to be like your precious Shirogane so bad, maybe we should cripple you, too. Seems like that’s all they’re sending into space anyway.” Dan struck Keith hard on the jaw. He kept up the litany of insults, marking each with a fist. “Goddamn—perfect—fucked-up—useless—goody-two-shoes—trumped-up—asshole!” Keith didn’t know if Dan was speaking about him or Shiro and frankly didn’t care. He was more worried about whether he would pass out and what Dan planned after that.

“Hey, what’s happening here?”

A new voice made Dan pause, and Keith struggled to catch his breath. Being the dumb box of hammers that he was, Dan hadn’t limited himself to where the marks wouldn’t show. Keith hoped his nose wasn’t broken. Again.

“None of your business, cargo,” Dan said, spitting the last word.

The crowd parted enough for Keith to see who interrupted them. Two students whom he vaguely recognized hovered on the edge. The tall one with the headband looked extremely nervous to be there, glancing around the group, but the shorter one who had spoken put on a brave face. His eyes widened as he saw Keith.

“You know Mitchell’s going to throw a fit if he sees this,” the boy said. Dan called him cargo—a cargo pilot? The boy swallowed. “And, uh, Iverson wanted to see the wonder pilot here.” He waved at Keith. “You know, test the simulator limits on him.”

Dan snorted. “Hey, if Iverson wants to use the teacher’s pet like a guinea pig, let him.” He scowled down at Keith. “At least it won’t waste the time of the real pilots.”

The person holding his arms let go, and Keith fell forward. Drops of blood from his nose hit the floor. Probably broken, then. No one helped him stand up.

“Let’s go see Iverson,” Keith said without infliction to the newcomers.

He walked out of the mess hall, leaving the cargo pilot and his friend to trail after him. He listened to them muttering behind him.

“Why do you always get involved?” the friend said.

“I had to do something,” the cargo pilot said. “They were killing him. That’s not…that’s not why I came here.”

“I’m fine,” Keith called over his shoulder. “And I know where Iverson’s office is. You don’t have to follow me.”

The cargo pilot made an indignant squawk. “We’re not actually going to Iverson, genius. I made that up.”

Keith stopped. “Why?”

“Because you look like a horror show.” The cargo pilot pointed a finger at Keith. “We’re going to Hunk’s room for first aide, and if you say no, I’ll make Hunk literally kidnap you. Right, Hunk?”

“I don’t know, dude, that’s a lot of blood, and I’m already not feeling great,” Hunk said. The cargo pilot swatted him on the shoulder.

“I don’t mean that,” Keith said. He wiped his nose on his sleeve, not caring about the red stain now spread across it. “Why did you stop them?”

“Are you kidding me right now?” the cargo pilot said. “Dan’s a psycho. He wouldn’t have stopped until he put you in a coma.” He crossed his arms. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“I didn’t need—” Keith paused. _What would Shiro do?_   “Thanks. They had me in a bad spot. So, yeah, thanks.”

“Don’t fall over from gratitude,” the cargo pilot said, but his posture relaxed. “Those idiots are cowards. What kind of fair fight is seven on one?”

“I could have taken on Dan alone.”

“Oh, I know,” the cargo pilot said, then reddened. “I mean, I’ve seen you training. You’re really good.”

Keith nodded. “Shiro—he was training me.”

The cargo pilot’s face fell, and Hunk put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t let what those guys said get to you,” he said to Keith. “We know he was a hero.”

“Is,” Keith growled. “He’s not—he’s still out there. I know it.”

Hunk and the cargo pilot shared a look. “So,” said the cargo pilot, “about that first aide?”

“I’m fine,” Keith said as he turned away. “Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to fix myself up.”


	4. Don't You Dare Pity Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompt this time, just my own mad ramblings. This takes place in the All of Me, All of You verse, where Keith and Lance shared a sub-Dom soul-bond. Nothing explicit here, but if that's your thing, check out AoM AoY [here!](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1086414)

Before Voltron, Lance wouldn't have called himself a violent person. Even after being thrown into an intergalactic war, violence was not his natural impulse.

That changed the day an enemy alien tribe captured Keith.

The Bantock were on the fringes of the Galra empire, not yet invaded but certainly ripe for the picking. Radio chatter had several leaders leaning towards the Galra side, and Allura wanted to see if they could change the tribe’s sympathies. It was a routine run to gather intelligence on any potential rebellion groups, something they had done several times before. Keith and Pidge were picked for their combined stealth and speed and had left with a jaunty wave and a smile.

The rebels were there, but not on the side they expected. Pro-empire radicals discovered the paladins and soon overpowered them.

“He told me to run,” Pidge said to the others. Tears shone in her eyes, but she tried to hold herself together. “I didn’t want to. I would have stayed, but he—he pushed me through this door and sealed it shut so I couldn’t go back. He said that one of us had to make it out to get you.” She looked up at Lance. “I’m so sorry. There was nothing I could do.”

Lance struggled to catch his breath. “It’s okay,” he said, hardly knowing what he was saying. “You did the right thing. We’ll get him back.”

“No one harms one of our own,” Allura said. “As far as I’m concerned, this is an act of war.”

The Bantock never stood a chance.

Lance and Shiro tore through the prison as the others razed the weapons facilities to the ground. They took prisoners where they could, but Lance wasn’t discriminating. Most Bantock recognized the threat and surrendered. Two angry Doms going after a member of their bond-family were not to be messed with.

Finally, they reached the right door. Shiro melted the lock off, and Lance shoved it open.

Keith was sitting there waiting. “What took you so long?” he said.

“Keith, you fucking asshole, c’mere.” Lance took two steps towards Keith, then stopped short as his eyes adjusted to the dim light.

Keith’s armour had been taken away, leaving him in a grey tunic and pants, so similar to what they found Shiro in on Earth that Lance’s breath caught. But it wasn’t the only thing the aliens had taken away.

They had cut off his hair.

It had been shorn as short as Shiro’s, choppy and uneven like they were rough about it.

Lance swallowed and swept over the bond. It was calm and cool without any of the distress Lance expected.

Shiro came up to stand beside him. His cybernetic arm was still glowing and fury rolled off him in waves. “Keith, did they hurt you?”

“No, just…” Keith’s hand hovered over his head. “No injuries.”

Shiro glanced at Lance, who nodded. “Okay, let’s get out of here. No point staying longer than we need to.”

On the castleship, and after Coran confirmed that Keith had no physical injuries, Pidge launched herself at him. “Don’t you dare do that again,” she said while holding him tightly. “We go together, always.”

Keith rubbed her back. “I know, Pidge. I know.”

Everyone had their turn reassuring themselves that Keith was okay. Their bond-family was a close one, and Keith spent the evening swaddled up with at least two paladins at any given time. Shiro, in particular, took a long time to calm down enough to let Keith out of his sight.

Allura approached him after dinner and gently offered to fix his hair. “So it can grow back evenly,” she said. Lance felt a tremor run through the bond, but Keith went with her.

Late that night, Keith was reading in Lance’s bed and ignoring Lance’s continual staring.

Eventually, Keith threw down his book. “Damn it, Lance, spit it out.”

“Are you okay?”

Keith rolled his eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Look, I know they didn’t torture you, but it was still a violation.” Lance shifted. “We can try to work through it or around it or something. I don’t want to hurt you more by accident.”

Keith huffed. “I’m—I’m not broken. It’s hair. It’ll grow back.”

Lance scowled at him. “Yeah, and I bet you took its removal calmly and willingly.”

Keith glanced away, caught. Lance knew that Keith would always put up a fight, and the Bantock would have had to restrain him somehow. That kind of thing left a mark.

“I’m fine,” Keith growled again.

“So I can touch it?” Lance pushed.

Keith froze.

_Gotcha_.

“I’m not—don’t—I don’t want your pity!”

They stared at each other, Lance in shock and Keith in anger. “Others have been hurt worse,” Keith continued. “ _I’ve_  been hurt worse. And the way the others acted…” Keith rubbed at his face. “I know I scared them, and yeah, it was really good to be close to them tonight. But I wasn’t actually hurt, so why…?” He trailed off, hands limp in his lap.

“Keith.” Lance paused, unsure how Keith would take what he needed to say. “You  _were_  hurt.” He gestured to Keith’s hair. “This is a type of injury. You can try to hide it from the others and from the bond, but we can still  _feel_  it. And we want to help. I want to help,” he added. “That’s not pity, that’s caring.”

Keith held still for another moment, then Lance felt the ice cracking over the bond. Keith shuddered and curled in on himself. “Make it good,” he said in a trembling voice.

“What?”

“When Allura was fixing it, it felt like I was back there all over again. I didn’t say anything because she just wanted to help, but—” He jerked his head in a gesture Lance recognized when Keith flicked his hair out of his face. “And before, you used to pet me, and it was nice. Calming. I need that again. But I don’t know how.”

“Okay. We can start slow. Usual stoplight system, yeah?”

Keith nodded, and Lance gently pulled him into his lap. He didn’t do anything at first, letting Keith adjust to Lance’s arms around him. It wasn’t anything different to what the rest of the team had offered Keith, but now there was the weight of expectation.

Lance started by rubbing Keith’s back, listening to Keith’s breathing even out. That’s when Lance noticed what had been bothering him all evening. “You’re not wearing your collar.”

Keith didn’t answer right away, then said, “I didn’t want to draw attention to my neck.”

Because now it was exposed. Lance chewed on that for a while, wondering if Keith would have asked for help if Lance hadn’t pushed.

He worked his way up Keith’s neck and scratched his fingers into the short hair. It was thick and soft and made a pleasing  _riffle_  sound when he rubbed against the grain. Keith shuddered. “That’s it, pet,” Lance murmured. “Relax.”

Slowly, the tension left Keith’s shoulders. He settled into Lance and was soon dozing in his lap. Lance kept up the strange scalp massage for a while longer, then eased Keith onto the bed. This hadn’t fixed everything, not by a long shot, but getting Keith to admit when he needed help was always a struggle. Lance considered this a win.

Not wanting Keith to wake up alone, Lance grabbed the abandoned book. He stretched out beside his sub and started to read.


	5. Locked in a Freezer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one features some original characters that I've been toying with for a while now. But don't let that turn you off! I'll be returning to the regular prompts after this (I haven't forgotten about you guys).

Caleb rolled his eyes as he was marched through the empty warehouse. Harrison really did go for that evil businessman stereotype. Caleb half-expected to be brought to a fancy table set for two where Harrison could ham up the atmosphere of dread.

Caleb eyed the men gripping his arms. Literal hired goons. Like Harrison had read a manual. The one on the right had a scattering of moles along his temple, and the one on the left had a steel ring through his ear. Otherwise, they had identical hard jaws and dead-eyed looks.

“Is this the part where I ask where we’re going in a trembling voice?” he asked the one with the earring.

“Harrison wanted to send a message,” the one with the moles said. “And he wanted it to stick.”

“Easier ways to do that,” Caleb said blithely. “Email, for instance. Or even the post. Carrier pigeon.” He turned back to the one with the steel earring. “This, on the other hand, is far more confusing than clarifying.”

“Shut it,” he growled.

“Elucidating,” Caleb said.

They turned down a hallway that ended in a stainless-steel door with a lever handle. “A freezer? Really?” Caleb scoffed. “Harrison knows I’m a siren, right? Cold doesn’t exactly work on me.”

The one with the earring grinned. “You may be able to survive the cold, but your friend won’t do so well,” he said as the one with the moles let go of Caleb to open the door.

Caleb twisted and lashed out with his free hand, catching the steel earring and ripping it out with a snarl.

The man shrieked and fell back as blood streamed down the side of his neck. He reached for the gun in his holster, but the other man pushed him back. “Harrison wants him alive.” He glanced at the freezer and added, “Mostly.”

The bleeding man growled and shoved Caleb into the room. “You’re going to be sorry you crossed someone like Harrison. He’ll make you hurt in ways you haven’t even dreamt of yet.”

Caleb twirled the gruesome earring around his finger and said nothing. The goons slammed the door shut with brutish grins. Caleb tested the lever on the inside and wasn’t surprised to find it broken.

He took a deep breath and went over what he learned.

Harrison didn’t want him dead, not yet. Either of those men could have put a bullet in his head and buried him under a building. The freezer was for pain, not death.

Then there was the ‘friend’ the man had mentioned. Caleb wasn’t sure what Harrison would consider a friend and was loath to find out.

Caleb turned to put the door at his back. The room was huge, more like a storeroom than a typical commercial freezer. Rows of shelves filled the space. Innocuous packages of meat and other foodstuffs served as camouflage for Harrison’s less legitimate business dealings. The harsh lighting gave the shadows a particular blue hue of steel and ice, and blurred more than they revealed.

Anybody could be hidden in here.

Caleb stepped forward, keeping his breathing even and his steps light. He should have grabbed the man’s gun instead of his earring.

Well, the earring was pretty satisfying.

He moved through the shelves in a grid, checking around corners and in empty spaces between the racks. Right at the back corner, he paused. Something scraped against metal.

Low and reflexive, a hissed escaped his teeth.

He crept around the edge of the shelf. A dark shape lay folded against the wall, twitching the heel of a boot on the floor.

It was Tess.

“No,” Caleb said. He abandoned stealth and darted to her side. “How—what—” At his approach, she jerked away and lashed out with her boot. “Tess, it’s me, it’s okay. It’s me.”

Her dark eyes were wide as she looked up at him, and he realized why she didn’t answer him. A cloth was tied around her face, gagging her, and her hands were bound to a shelf. No wonder she didn’t try to escape when the goons opened the door.

Caleb worked at the knots. “What have they done to you, my darling?”

Tess spit out the gag as soon as it was loose. “Fucking Harrison’s boys pulled me off the street. Came right up to the car while I was on stakeout. Took my phone, took my gun, even took my baton.”

“Did they hurt you?” Caleb’s voice was hard.

Tess rubbed her wrists. They were raw from the rope, but the skin looked unbroken. “One tried to backhand me, you know, frighten the woman even though I’m a cop.” She grinned. “I broke his nose.” The grin faded as she eyed him. “How’d you get here?”

Caleb shrugged, knowing Tess would yell at him later. “I walked up to the front door and invited myself in.”

“You stupid siren.” She reached up to tuck his blond hair behind his ear. “I hope you made them work to get you in here.”

He showed her the bloody earring.

“Gross,” she said. “That better not end up in my jewellery box.”

“Not unless you ask nicely.”

A violent shiver raced through her body. She was wearing a tee-shirt, jeans, and a leather jacket, none of which would protect her for long in here. Caleb stripped off his own thin blazer—better than nothing—and put it around her shoulders. “How long have you been in here?” Her lips were already blue.

“Not too long. Maybe fifteen minutes?”

“Come on, up.” He helped her to her feet. She stamped her boots a few times and zipped up the mismatched jackets. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, tucking her face into his neck. Her breath was hot on his skin.

“It’s two hours until my next check-in,” Tess said. 

Caleb tightened his hold on her. “Please tell me someone knows where you are.”

“Nope.” She laughed, a broken, wet thing. “You?”

He buried his fingers in her thick curly hair. “I told Ethan I was coming here.”

Another laugh. “Great. Our rescue is depending on a skinny museum nerd.”

“Tsk, tsk, my dear. We love that nerd. He’ll come through.”

They stood together with Caleb rubbing her back. For the first time, he wished he was human; the mechanism that kept him from freezing also prevented him from being a heat source for Tess. Another violent shiver had him prodding her to move. They walked up and down the shelves, Caleb trying to be as annoying as possible to keep Tess focused. “Keep shivering, darling,” he said. “If you stop, you’ll be in trouble.”

Tess blew on her hands. “As long as I get to keep my trigger finger.”

“Oh yes, how else would you terrify men of both species?” Caleb was opening boxes, but they all seemed full of meat or drugs. Nothing helpful. “Other than your wicked left hook and six-inch heels.”

Tess appeared to be taking great joy in ripping open the drug packages and throwing them around the room. “Come on, siren men love that shit.”

Caleb grinned at her. “I know I certainly do.”

He tried to keep her talking. He told her childhood stories of growing up in the siren creche, and she offered tales from the academy. But her words started to trail off and she lost the thread of what she was saying.

He tried to give her more of his clothes—“At least the socks, please, Tess.”—but she refused. Succumbing to instinct, she crouched down and huddled around herself. Caleb pulled her into his lap, helpless to offer anything but a small modicum of comfort.

“You’re not immune to the cold,” she mumbled. “Just takes longer. I don’t want—I don’t want us both to die here.”

He snarled. “We’re not dying here.  _You’re_  not dying here.” He rolled the bloody earring around his pinkie. “And if, ancients help me, if you do, there won’t be enough pieces for that terrifying partner of yours to identify them.”

“Such...a romantic,” she mumbled. Her head dropped against his chest.

“Anything for my  _shanrein_ ,” he said, hoping to get a rise out of her with the old-fashioned siren endearment. When she didn’t respond, he looked down to see her eyes were closed.

“Hey now, no sleeping.” He shook her. “Tess, come on, wake up.”

“Glad I didn’t punch you...when we met.”

“No, no, no.” Caleb cradled her long frame in his arms. “You have to stay awake. Ethan’s on his way. I know he is. You have to stay awake for him. Tess. Tess!”

A bang on the steel door startled him. Caleb gathered Tess up and ran to the front of the freezer. It didn’t matter if it was a friend or enemy on the other side of that door; he was getting through. He pressed himself to the wall next to it, and Tess groaned softly.

A muffled curse and another bang, then the door eased open a crack. Caleb was about to take out the knees of whomever it was when he recognized the messy dark hair poking through.

“Caleb?” Ethan asked. He glanced down and went pale. “Tessa? Shit, what happened?”

Caleb’s relief collided with urgency. “Ethan, we need to get her out of here as soon as possible. She’s alive, but she’s slipping in and out of consciousness.”

Ethan stepped aside to let Caleb past. Alice was standing with her gun out and a murderous expression next to a pair of medics with a stretcher.

“You better not have killed my partner, fish boy,” she said.

Ignoring the insult, Caleb handed Tess over to the team, who strapped her down and started asking rapid questions.

“How long has she been unconscious?”

“Less than five minutes.”

“How long were you in the freezer?”

“About an hour.”

“Any other injuries?”

“No.”

“Pity,” Alice interrupted. “I would have liked the excuse.”

Never was Caleb so thankful for Alice’s bloodthirsty attitude.

The group trailed after the medics. At the questioning glance of one, Caleb said, “I’m a siren.” The tight line of her mouth told him that he wasn’t getting away without treatment that easy. “How did you find us?” he asked Alice.

“Followed the blood trail.” She pointed to the floor. A few drops of fresh blood dotted the linoleum. “Figured someone would be in trouble at the other end of it.”

Caleb showed her the earring. “Someone was, alright.”

Her answering grin was fierce.

Caleb glanced behind them to see Ethan bringing up the rear. He looked tense and drawn, and didn’t say anything as they emerged outside. Caleb knew he was likely a ball of anxiety and wanted to comfort his  _shalrein_ , but he needed to make sure Tess was okay first.

The medics loaded Tess into the bus and prepped her for transport as the tight-lipped one cornered Caleb. A few pokes and prods later, she let Caleb go saying he was fine.

“I could have told her that,” Caleb grumbled as he stood next to Ethan.

Ethan’s arms were wrapped around himself, gripping his elbows. “She has to be okay.” He didn’t seem aware he spoke out loud.

He touched Ethan’s shoulder. “You came for us.”

“What if I was too late? What if we lost her?”

“We didn’t,” Caleb said. “She’s as strong a fighter as any siren queen.”

“She only just became a part of this, of us.” Ethan gestured between the two of them, then scrubbed at his face. “What if she decides we’re not worth it? I don’t know if I can go back to how it was before.” His eyes widened. “Not that you’re not enough for me, but this is so different and so much, and we all just  _fit—_ ”

“Ethan, listen.” Caleb pulled him around to face him, away from the ambulance. “She  _loves_  us. If anything happened to either of us, she would be the first one to fight for us. She’s not going to walk away because of this. You saved her life. You saved both our lives. You’re a hero.” He gave Ethan a crooked grin. “That’s kind of hot.”

Ethan let out a croaky laugh. “Well, Alice drove.”

Caleb shook his head. “Don’t make me start to like Alice. I can only be in a relationship with one queen at a time. Two would kill me.”

“One queen and one drone is your max?”

Caleb leaned in and kissed Ethan. “You’re nothing like a drone.”

“Hey, idiots,” Alice called from the ambulance. “We're leaving. One person can ride with the bus and I’ll follow with whoever's left.”

Caleb nodded at Ethan. “You go. She should know you’re there. She’ll just yell at me if I’m there first.”

“Okay.” Ethan drew himself up. “See you there.”

“We’ll be right behind you.” Another grin. “As always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some background: _Shanrein_ is an old siren word for a female lover and _shalrein_ for a male lover. Sirens have a matriarchal society similar to hyenas or bees, so Caleb refers to the powerful women in his life as queens. A drone is a young or less influential male, sort of like a human intern.


	6. Truth Serum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another unprompted one stemming from listening to too many Kingsman music playlists.

“Turn left.”

Merlin’s voice in his earpiece was a calm tether on reality as Eggsy made a sharp turn down a narrow London street. He skidded and slammed into the wall, cursing the pain and the dizziness that affected his balance. “Please tell me you know what the fuck they injected me with,” he gasped.

“Still analyzing,” came the Scottish brogue. “It’s something new. Plus, all the adrenaline and alcohol are slowing the analysis down.”

“Next time a Guatemalan arms dealer shoots me up with a mysterious substance in a pub, I’ll try to remember to stay calm, then. Fuck!” A jerk backward saved him from being mowed down by a black cab—not one of theirs, he noticed. “Where the hell is Harry?”

“Coming up on your right,” Merlin said.

Like a spell summoned by the actual ancient wizard, a Kingsman cab rolled to a stop. “Get in,” Harry said from the driver’s side.

“What did you call me?” Merlin said.

“What?” Eggsy said, caught between the two voices.

“Get in,” Harry repeated, reaching across and pushing the door open. His voice brooked no argument, and Eggsy had developed a bit of a Pavlovian response to Harry’s orders.

Harry shot him a look. “Pardon me?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Merlin said in his earpiece.

Eggsy ran the last few seconds back in his head. He had apparently been speaking all that out loud. “Oh, bollocks.”

Harry focused on driving, but Eggsy could tell his attention was split. “What exactly are your symptoms?”

“Uh.” Eggsy swallowed, thinking carefully before he spoke. “Dizziness, dry mouth, elevated heart rate, soreness at the point of injection.”

“Lack of verbal filter,” Merlin chimed in.

“Yeah, alright,” Eggsy muttered. “I already feel angry at myself for messing up and terrified that I’m going to die, so you don’t have to make it worse.”

Silence from all sides.

Eggsy thumped his head on the window. “Fuck.”

&&&

The white lab coat should have made Merlin look like a twat, but he wore it like a second skin, as dapper as ever.

“Thank you,” Merlin said as he flipped papers on a clipboard.

Eggsy grimaced. “Please tell me this stuff wears off soon.”

“Well, if it’s anything like sodium pentothal, a few hours should do it. It has a similar chemical makeup.” Merlin flipped another page. “Or up to 24 hours. But no more than 36.”

“Great.” He hopped off the little examination table and tried not to feel vulnerable in the cotton gown. It reminded him too much of when Harry had been injured.

Merlin gave him a soft look, and Eggsy cursed. “I said that out loud, didn’t I?’

The man gave Eggsy’s shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. We’ve all been through hard times. Rest up and enjoy the time off.”

Eggsy blinked. “Time off? What, no, I have to find that guy. I have to finish the mission.”

The look Merlin gave him now was flat. “You’re spouting off whatever pops in your head. Doesn’t make for a very good spy, does it? Lancelot will take over the mission.”

He listened patiently as Eggsy told him exactly what he thought of that.

“And you make sure you keep her safe because she is my best friend and I can’t lose any more friends to this stupid job,” Eggsy finished.

“I will, lad,” Merlin said quietly. “I will.”

&&&

Going to Harry’s wasn’t any easier.

Eggsy had never really settled down into his own place. He stayed at his mum’s flat when he needed a dose of real life, and at the mansion when he was prepping or debriefing from missions. The rest of the time he was at Harry’s.

Eggsy knew every species of butterfly pinned up on the walls. He knew every headline hung with modest pride in Harry’s office. He even knew how many types of spoons Harry had in his immaculate kitchen. It was as if all the things that Harry couldn’t or wouldn’t talk about in his life, he displayed openly in his home.

Conversations were the same. Harry was always honest with Eggsy, but sometimes that honesty came in the form of allegory or metaphor. It was a way to talk around things that Harry didn’t want to expose, but didn’t want to hide, either.

And now Harry was about to face a whole lot of straightforward, in-your-face honesty.

“This one is my favourite,” Eggsy said as he walked in the door. He was pointing to a mounted _Caligo prometheus_. “I noticed it when you first brought me here. I liked the owl eyes. A camouflaged butterfly seemed very on-point for a spy.”

Harry followed behind in quiet bemusement, as if waiting for whatever would fall out of Eggsy’s mouth next.

“I’m not a circus trick,” Eggsy said, giving Harry the stink eye. “Wait, animal. I meant a circus animal. Speaking of animals, there is no way I’m stuffing J.B. and putting him next to Mr. Pickles. Butterflies are one thing, but _that_ is some creepy old man business.”

Harry paused and shook his head. “I think we’ll get takeaway tonight. Heaven forbid I find out what you really think of my cooking.”

“Your cooking’s fine, mate.” Eggsy slapped him on the shoulder as he passed by to head to the former spare room. “It’s your decorating that’s the problem.”

They ordered Andalusian food from a place on the South Bank. Eggsy filled up on olives and sea bass and paella, extolling the deliciousness of the food and Harry’s wisdom in ordering it as well as what he thought of Harry’s neighbours, his mum’s neighbours, current club music, and the state of the economy.

“You know,” Harry drawled, “I had hoped that the act of mastication would slow down the chatter, but I guess I was wrong.”

“I’ll show you mastication,” Eggsy said around another piece of bread dipped in oil. “Twat.”

Harry only smiled like it was a private joke, then got up to clear away the dishes. With nothing immediate to direct his verbal typhoon, Eggsy took in the environment. Part of it was the do-or-die training ingrained in him, but part of it was what Roxy would call mindfulness. Taking a moment to breathe and exist without thinking of a future moment. Eggsy noticed the clinking of dishes in the sink behind him—Harry insisted on eating every meal on proper china—and the burbling of the kettle heating and the soft purr of traffic outside. It was so small and domestic.

“What was my dad like?” Eggsy blurted.

The sounds of dishes stopped. Eggsy didn’t turn around to see what Harry looked like. He hadn’t meant to say that. And now he couldn’t stop his mouth from running away from him. “You don’t have to answer that. I just don’t remember a lot of him, and I don’t want you to think you have to make him seem better than he was just ‘cause he’s dead. I mean, he could have been a real prick who happened to save your life and now you feel you owe it to his memory to only remember him like that—”

“He was a good man,” Harry interrupted. He didn’t move from the sink and Eggsy didn’t turn around to face him. He was worried what other truths would emerge if how Harry was looking at him was anything like Eggsy imagined. “That’s a rarity in our line of work. He was an excellent code-breaker, a crack shot, and always had an exit plan. All qualities you can find in any Kingsman agent and all can be found in real pricks, as you say.”

Eggsy stared at the tablecloth. Cotton, probably Egyptian, because why not have a tablecloth made of the same stuff as your sheets.

“But he was a good man on top of all that,” Harry continued. “And I hope I can live up to his memory one day.”

Eggsy took a deep breath, stretching out his ribs and letting his body relax into the exhale. Good, this was good. Harry always told him the truth. He wouldn’t sugarcoat something like this—

“You’re not my dad,” Eggsy said, immediately following it with, “Fuck.”

Another pause from Harry. “I should hope not,” he said dryly.

“Bloody truth serum, why couldn’t it be a don’t-sound-like-an-idiot serum,” Eggsy muttered, then braced himself to turn and finally face Harry.

A cup of tea was put in front of him before he could. The sneaky bastard had made it silently while Eggsy was getting knotted up in his head. Harry sat down sipping his own steaming cup like butter wouldn’t melt. He waited.

Eggsy wrapped his hands around the delicate teacup. “You’re not a father figure,” he started slowly. “I’m not looking to replace him, so you don’t, you know, need to father me, or whatever.” He spoke in a rush, not sure if anything was making sense. “I don’t remember him, and I don’t miss what I don’t have, so how would I replace it? And I know it’s not his fault he’s not around, but you came back, you know? So, in that way, you’ve been better to me than him, and that’s what I think I needed. That’s how I stay sane and focused out there, is knowing there’s a person to come home to that I don’t have to worry about or look after, ‘cause you can take care of yourself, and I had no idea how much I needed someone I didn’t have to worry about—”

“Eggsy,” Harry interrupted gently. “Looking for balance and stability is nothing to apologize for. You’ve had, let’s say, a tumultuous life, and now you have an equally tumultuous career. Stability had to come in one of those areas. Otherwise, you would tear yourself in half.”

Eggsy sagged in his chair and took a gulp of tea. Thank god Harry understood. Then he choked as he realized what he said. A person to come home to. How did it take until now for him to realize that?

Which he, of course, said out loud.

Harry sat listening with the implacable attitude of a man used to hearing strange and awful things.

“My dear, would you like a break from these revelations?” Harry eventually said. When Eggsy nodded, he said. “I believe _Strictly_ is on tonight, if you want to turn your opinions in that direction.”

“Yes, I think that would be great,” Eggsy said, wondering if he had somehow cocked this all up.

“Not at all,” Harry said as he swanned off to the sitting room. Eggsy followed, both trusting in Harry and watching his back, as he knew Harry would do for him.


	7. Human Shield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ages ago, "human shield" with Lance was requested by OverInvestedFangirl here on AO3. I seem to enjoy hurting Lance and Keith being the cause of it.

“Any change?” Shiro asked over Keith’s shoulder.

“Nothing,” Keith said with gritted teeth. He peered down the scope at the two small figures below.

The stand-off had been going on for over an hour. If it had to do with the war, Keith might not have been so tense. Not that he wasn’t plenty tense now, with Lance being held hostage by a desperate and angry alien criminal. But it was purely a wrong-time, wrong-place situation, and that annoyed him.

Keith’s shoulders hunched up further. It had been the sort of thing Lance loved. Stopping a museum heist, being the hero, and spouting quips while shooting a gun out of the bad guy’s hand at a hundred paces. And that was almost exactly how it had gone. The band was made up of amateurs trying to steal a culturally significant diamond. The paladins had interrupted them and easily captured the three would-be thieves.

Except for the fourth thief they hadn’t realized was there. The one who was more desperate and more reckless and less willing to go down without a fight.

Keith and the others were milling around the town square afterwards when he caught movement darting between buildings. Before he could move, before he could shout, before he could do _anything_ , the guy had grabbed Lance and pushed a rough obsidian blade up against his throat. Everyone froze. Keith growled.

“Stay back,” the thief had said, flashing broken teeth. “I’m not going down for this. I’m getting out of here, you hear me? And I’m taking this one as insurance.”

“Pallux, don’t be stupid,” hissed one of the other handcuffed thieves.

“Yeah,” Lance said, trying to keep the shaking out of his voice. “Let’s just calm down, okay?”

“I’m not the one who got caught,” Pallux said. “And you, keep quiet.” He shook Lance, driving the tip of the knife into his skin. Keith tracked the slow drop of blood that ran down Lance’s throat.

Pallux had then dragged Lance beyond the cover of the buildings to an open meadow. No way to sneak up on him there.

Keith and Shiro were now perched on a rooftop watching the two of them. Lance was pale, and other than the red scratch at his throat, seemed uninjured. He would occasionally talk to the guy, but without his usual animation. Keith knew Lance was trying to keep Pallux calm.

Pallux’s demands were the usual ‘get me transport, don’t follow me’ sort of thing, and the town authorities were still trying to work out a way to make that happen. Keith only cared about getting Lance back safely.

“Is there any way we can knock him out or something?” Keith asked. “A gas grenade, maybe?”

“Anything we used to retaliate against Pallux would affect Lance, too,” Shiro answered. He looked stoic, but his narrowed eyes and tense jaw told Keith he was desperate to get down there himself.

Keith looked through the scope again. It was attached to a sniper rifle that Coran had dug out of the archives. Not as intuitive to hold as the bayards, but Keith appreciated the weight in his hands.

For the hundredth time, he had a dangerous thought and suppressed it, then decided to hell with it. “I might be able to get a clear shot,” he murmured.

“Keith,” Shiro said in warning. “That’s a hundred and fifty metres with too small a margin of error. You think you’re good enough to not hit Lance as collateral?”

He wasn’t trying to undermine Keith, only trying to get him to see what a bad idea it was. Keith huffed, aware of the numbers. “The only person who could make that shot is down there as a hostage. What else do you want me to do?”

Shiro stared down at the figures. The thief—in more ways than one, now—was dressed in brown and grey, and was almost invisible against the dry grass. Lance stood out like a beacon in his white paladin armour.

Everyone was getting tired and thirsty and anxious. People slipped up. Fingers on triggers and blades got itchy. They couldn’t afford this stand-off much longer.

“If we can distract him,” Shiro said slowly, “and get him to turn to the east slightly, could you make the shot?”

Keith measured the distance. Making Pallux turn even slightly exposed more of his shoulder and torso. It was possible. He could do it. He nodded.

Shiro put one hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Watch for the signal.” Then he left.

No one else was going to know about this plan. Keith felt it in his bones.

He breathed, and he waited. Lance’s head was drooping from being forced to stand this whole time. Keith focused on the tiny red stain on his armour. He felt cold and calm.

Out of the east, appeared a helicopter, or something like it. The blades thumped through the air, echoing Keith’s heartbeat. Pallux watched it and grinned, thinking his ride was on its way. He mouthed something into Lance’s ear, then pulled him around, giving Keith a clear view—

To Keith, the shot was little more than a _pip_ , the actual bullet travelling too fast to register. Pallux went down in a crumpled heap, dragging at Lance, who stumbled to the ground.

And didn’t rise.

Keith’s breathing stopped altogether. “Come on, come on, come on.”

The town authorities swarmed the area, the law enforcement and medical aide turning the meadow into chaos. Keith hit his comm. “Shiro? Please, Shiro, tell me something.”

Quiet, and then: “Pallux is down, but Lance is fine. You winged him, right through the upper arm, but he’s okay. You did it, Keith.”

Keith’s chest imploded, forcing the air out in a violent rush. “Thank fuck. Oh my god, oh my god...” Keith trailed off as the calm left him and he was left shaking alone on a rooftop cradling a rifle.

“Keith?”

He choked as he heard the new voice in his ear. “Lance. Are you okay? Fuck, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be.” Even over the comm, Keith could hear the rasping of Lance’s voice. “That was an incredible shot. Couldn’t have done it better myself.”

A gurgling came out of Keith, halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Of course you could have.”

“Well, yeah. But we’ll keep that between us, okay? I get a cool scar, and you get to be the dashing hero.”

Keith put his back to the low wall that ran around the rooftop. He couldn’t seem to stand anymore. And he didn’t want to look at the meadow. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Me, too. And…Keith?”

Keith sniffed. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. Really. No one else would have even attempted that shot.”

“Yeah, well.” Keith rubbed his face. “I had a good teacher.”

“Damn right, you did.” The smirk was obvious in Lance’s voice. “See you at the castleship?”

“I’m right behind you.”


	8. Standing Cuffs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got real soft. Prepare for a shippy Klance chapter.

Keith was trying to look for crystals, and Lance was trying to not look at him.

Of all the ways Lance thought it would happen—being pinned while sparring, a life-or-death confession in the middle of a mission, or even prompted by an alien truth venom—he didn’t think having breakfast together would be how Keith admitted his feelings.

Sweat ran down the back of Lance’s neck as he beat his way through the bush. Keith had asked him on a date. He and Keith. On a date. _Dating Keith._ Keith had obviously planned on today to ask him. They were on low-stakes mission looking for special energy crystals for Coran. The two of them were together away from the others, giving Lance a chance to both interact with him in a low-pressure way and focus on something besides Keith.

It was a weirdly solid plan. Lance would be impressed if he wasn’t so annoyed he hadn’t thought of it first.

“I’m going to try over there,” Keith called, pointing to the rise of a hill. “Coran said the crystals usually get exposed by landslides. And it looks like there are some caves.”

“Okay,” Lance said weakly. Keith was still acting normally; why couldn’t he? Oh yeah, because his teammate and friend had _asked him on a date_ over space waffles, and Lance still hadn’t reconciled that surprise with his instinctual reaction of “hell, yes.”

He kicked at a tree with a trunk thicker than his entire body. This should be the easy bit. But nothing came to Lance easily, and so he was spinning out looking for the catch, the condition, the hidden trouble that would ruin everything. He kicked the tree again for good measure and watched in satisfaction as a few leaves fell. There was also a rustle and a squawk—not from the tree. Lance turned, body on full alert. “Keith?”

A beat of silence. “I’m here,” Keith called. “I think I found something. I need a hand.”

Lance glanced around again. Nothing else was moving. Nothing stared at him with glittering malice. “On my way.”

And obviously, it was a trap.

&&&

Lance woke up to Keith’s dagger in his face. “Uh,” he said.

“Who are you?” Keith said.

“Huh?” Lance replied. He was still groggy. Maybe this was a cognitive test? Lance doubted that Keith needed a knife for that, but then, what did that guy know about medical aide.

Keith jabbed the knife closer. “Who are you, and what have you done with Lance?”

Oh-kay. Lance’s brain skidded sideways. “Nothing. I mean, I’m right here.”

“No,” Keith said with narrowed eyes. Lance shivered. He had only known the dangerous side of Keith as a sparring partner or a rival, never as an actual enemy.

“I know Lance,” Keith continued, “and you’re not him. So I’ll ask one more time. Where is he?”

“Keith, come on.” Lance leaned forward and realized his arms were cuffed above his head. Huh. He thought the numbness was from whatever had knocked him out. He looked past Keith to his surroundings.

They were in a cave. A narrow opening about ten feet away opened into the broad, sandy area they were standing in and continued into darkness around a corner. Other than sand, the expected forest detritus littered the floor with nothing to suggest that anything lived here. Lance looked up to see the same cuffs Nyma had used on him ages ago pinning him to a rocky outcropping. That annoyed him more than anything. He was tired of being cuffed to the environment.

He wiggled his toes in his boots, keeping the movement small. He could place his full weight on his feet, but only just. No lashing out or swinging up with his feet.

Lance blinked. He didn’t want to be thinking of how to _attack_ Keith. There had to be a better way out of this.

During the moment of distraction, Keith apparently lost his patience. He shoved Lance against the rock wall. “Tell me where he is.”

As stars danced in Lance’s eyes from where his head hit the rock, he had the dazed thought that Keith didn’t usually threaten people this much before committing to action. “I _am_ Lance, you idiot. It’s me! What’s wrong with you?”

Keith growled and backed off, kicking sand. “Fine, you think you’re Lance. Then tell me something only Lance would know.”

“Well, I _know_ that is a stupid question. I could say ‘I have a birthmark on my right heel’ and how would you know if I was telling the truth?” A voice in the back of his mind that sounded like Hunk screamed at him to not antagonize the guy with a knife, but it was a small and distant voice.

Keith gave him a disbelieving look. “I would take your shoes off.”

Lance scowled. “Fair point, but my statement still stands.”

“Which was?”

As he rolled his shoulders to ease the discomfort, Lance said, “That anything I say only I know is unprovable to be true. If no one else knows it, I can say anything.”

Keith looked away towards the cave entrance. “‘Unprovable’ isn’t a word.” He paced back and forth, looked out of the cave, and came back, apparently satisfied with whatever he saw. “Okay then,” he said with a familiar arrogance when he was about to prove Lance very stupid. “Tell me something only _I_ would know.”

Lance flushed as he thought of that morning. Space waffles and Keith sitting beside him but not looking at him. Keith pushing the alien syrup towards him while casually throwing down an emotional bombshell. Keith’s small smile when he said he’d let Lance think about it, as if already knowing Lance would say yes.

“That’s also a stupid idea,” he mumbled.

But it didn’t deter Keith, who stepped closer with bright eyes and nearly gave Lance a third nostril with the knife. The knife. Something about it bugged Lance, but he hadn’t worked it out yet.

“You do know something,” Keith said. “I can see you’re hiding it. Tell me.” He looked _hungry,_ as if this was much more than Lance just proving his own identity. “Tell me the secret you know about me.”

Lance shook his head. This was getting weird. “Why do you think I’m not Lance?”

That gave Keith pause. “Because he’s—you’re not—look at you!” He waved the knife at Lance. “You’re too tall, for one. And the teeth are all wrong. And the real Lance would be this dense.”

Lance absorbed all this and nodded. “Interesting, interesting. Tell you what. I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me one thing first.”

“Okay,” Keith said warily.

“You’re a paladin of Voltron, Blade of Marmora, and half-Galra badass.” When Keith nodded with a confused frown, Lance asked, “Why aren’t you using the full sword, then?”

Keith went still, his fist tightening around the dagger.  “I don’t need it.”

“Not even for an interrogation of a person who you believe harmed your teammate?” Lance tried to affect an easy attitude with his arms still stretched over his head. It took some effort, but he thought he managed it.

Annoyance and anger flushed over Keith’s face. “You’ve had your one question. Now gave me my secret.”

“Okay.” Lance crossed one ankle over the other. “I don’t need to think about it. I would have said yes.”

Keith blinked. “What? What are you talking about it? That’s not a secret.”

“Yes, it is.” Lance pressed himself into the rock behind him. “Because the real Keith would know what it means.”

Keith—or the thing that looked like Keith—snarled and swung the knife in a high arc. Lance closed his eyes and braced for the blade to slice into his neck when the snarl was cut off with a gurgle. Lance opened his eyes to see Keith’s real knife buried to the hilt in the fake-Keith’s side. The fake-Keith then _shimmered_ and the glamour fell away to reveal a glittering carapace and sharp mandibles. The creature ripped the knife from its side with a shriek of outrage and scuttled deeper into the cave.

“Cutting it a bit fine, aren’t we?” Lance said to Keith—the real one—standing at the cave mouth. “Nice throw, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Keith came in and wiped lavender blood off his blade. “Good job stalling.” He glanced up at Lance’s cuffed hands and smirked. “Is your specialty getting kidnapped by locals, or are you just lucky?”

“Shut up,” Lance grumbled. “Wait. You need to prove you’re the real Keith. Do I have a birthmark on my right heel?”

Keith gave him a flat look. “No, you don’t. It’s really me.” To prove his point, he activated the Marmora blade into its full, cruel length.

Lance sagged in relief. “Thank god,” he said, then fell to the ground as Keith used the sword to break the cuffs and suddenly nothing was holding him up. He spat out sand and thought about shoving a handful into Keith’s hair, but listened to that Hunk voice to not antagonize the guy with the sword. Instead, he asked, “What was that thing?”

“An Ekthrall.” Keith was shining a light into the darkness of the cave. Other than a trail of purple blood, there was no sign of the creature. “They feed on secrets.”

Lance paused in the middle of brushing himself off. “What the hell?”

Keith returned and nodded to the daylight outside, and they both walked back to the forest. “It got me first, and I woke up in a weird nest. So I called Coran and Pidge and they told me what it was. Ekthralls mimic people and feed on secrets they pry out of people in a sort of psychic-vampire way. Then in a real-vampire way, they feed on the person. My guess is it was going to eat you first, then come back for me disguised as you.”

Lance ducked under a branch. “Thanks for sparing me from that fate. It wasn’t very good at mimicking you, anyway. I knew right away something was up.”

“Right.” Keith gave him a sideways smile. It was the same smile he had given at breakfast. “So,” he said with far too much nonchalance, “you don’t need to think about it, huh? Would have said yes anyway?”

Lance tripped on a root. “Shut up.”

Keith grabbed his arm and steadied him. “Maybe that creature got your secrets after all.”

Lance snorted, feeling his face heat again. “Like any of that was a secret.”

Sliding his hand down to tangle with Lance’s, Keith said, “Still good to hear it.”

Lance glanced down at their hands and swallowed. “Yeah. Good to say it, too.”


	9. Damaged Vocal Cords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, these are just getting softer and softer.

“I don’t know what you’re so worked up about,” Aziraphale said as he unlocked the door to the bookshop. “Lots of people cope with this every day.”

Crowley just glared at him. If Aziraphale had been a touch more mortal, it would have immolated him. Crowley starting gesticulating wildly. Aziraphale, having barely studied French and not progressed beyond that, still caught the gist of Crowley’s signing and cleared his throat pointedly. “Language, dear.”

Crowley’s two-fingered response was perfectly eloquent.

Aziraphale frowned and turned back to his desk. “We could call Anathema,” he said. “She does claim to be a witch of some degree.”

Crowley signed in a way that suggested sharp consonants and hissing sibilants, then gave up at Aziraphale’s blank stare and mimed riding a bicycle and dramatically falling over.

“Yes, well, I think she’s quite forgiven you for that.”

Crowley waved Aziraphale on, either dismissing or encouraging the idea, tossed his mobile on the desk, and lounged on one of Aziraphale’s overstuffed armchairs. The bookshop was full of them, yet their presence never encouraged customers to settle in and overstay their tenuous welcome.

Aziraphale eyed the mobile. Normal human technology was dodgy enough; throw in a demon whose possessions tended to behave a little _strangely_ , and all bets were off. Aziraphale ignored it and turned to his own landline.

The phone call got off to a disheartening start when Anathema laughed for five minutes straight after Aziraphale explained what happened. Crowley just sneered from the armchair.

Aziraphale hung up after she suggested a tincture of mistletoe and holly, which he was sure she meant as a joke. “Good curse-lifting properties,” she said between snickers. Aziraphale thanked her and just before he hung up, he heard her call out, “Newt! That flash bastard’s been cursed!”

“Well, it was worth a try,” Aziraphale grumbled. “Perhaps that lovely Tracey woman.” He ignored Crowley’s frantic signing and dialled the number for Madame Tracey’s new cottage. She took a moment to place him, but remembered him as “that polite gentleman who altered my scooter.”

“This seems a bit beyond my expertise,” she said. “As a medium, I mean. I do have experience in getting reluctant flowers to bloom, though. You know, from my other line of work. I’ve retired from all that, but I could do a special occasion sort of thing.” As Aziraphale tried to splutter out an explanation and rid his mind of the concepts of Crowley and reluctant flowers, she continued in a low voice. “Are you having marital problems, my dear? Sometimes the ones closest to us are the hardest to talk to.”

“No, no, thank you, Madame Tracey, but I think we’ll do quite fine on our own.” He put the receiver down before she could give any more well-meaning advice.

Aziraphale looked over to Crowley, now dangling sideways across the armchair. There was little in the way of magic as humans thought of it in the world, but there were people like Anathema and Madame Tracey, and to a small extent Newton Pulsifer (and to a much larger extent Adam Young, even these days) who could tweak reality ever so slightly. Leftovers from the building of creation, like extra screws in flatpack furniture. Easily overlooked, and mostly harmless.

Today was not harmless. Today saw them meet a woman who was more aware of the divine and demonic presence in the world, but didn't have the frame of reference to realize what that meant. She sensed Crowley and with a cry of “Evil be silenced,” managed to twist reality enough to render Crowley mute.

The woman hasn’t quite accomplished what she set out to do. If the curse had been real, a good number of humans in her vicinity would have been affected as well. But her attention was on Crowley and Crowley only, so it hit him.

Aziraphale reckoned it would wear off in the next few hours. Unspecified curses dropped off like old masking tape, and “evil” was more a behaviour than a species. Just names for different sides, as Crowley put it.

“Looks like there’s nothing for it but to wait it out,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley held up three fingers and waved them by his face, then shook his head and mimed pouring something into a glass.

“Oh, wine!” Aziraphale said. “I do believe I have a nice 1917 tucked away back here.” He had just reached down for where he thought the bottle was—and where it would shortly appear—when Crowley’s mobile rang.

Both of them froze. Crowley raised one elegant brow at Aziraphale, waiting to see how this played out. Aziraphale stared with wide eyes and blurted out, “Your phone’s ringing.”

Crowley’s other brow joined the first in a _why, yes it is_ gesture.

Aziraphale was caught in that special anxiety that everyone—human, angel, or demon—gets when there’s a ringing phone left unanswered. His fingers twitched. If it was one of the humans they knew, then they could be easily fobbed off and contacted later.

But the name on the screen hurt to look at, and Aziraphale knew it was one of Crowley’s demonic cohorts. _Turnscrew_ , the screen said. Aziraphale was unfamiliar. Although—

Crowley rarely talked about other demons, not beyond the big players like Asmodeus and Beelzebub. Similar to how Aziraphale mentioned Michael or Gabriel, and with the same degree of hesitant annoyance. But occasionally, Crowley talked about the younger demons and how they _still_ didn’t have any imagination and what was the world coming to when the younger generation was still as, ahem, hellbent on following the old ways as Satan himself. Turnscrew had come up in that particular conversation, a minor demon who thought himself rather worldly. He also hadn’t quite got the message that Crowley was more or less freelancing.

Crowley flapped a hand at him. _Answer it._

The thought of not answering hadn’t crossed Aziraphale’s mind. Aziraphale, who still struggled with the idea of voicemail and Ansaphones, automatically hit the green button and brought the phone to his ear with slowly dawning horror at his own actions. “Hello?”

“Crowley?” came a tinny voice with a sharp accent. “That you?”

 _Damn you_ , Aziraphale mouthed to Crowley.

 _Too late_ , he mouthed back.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and drudged up memories of Crowley’s voice and affectation and attitude. “Yeah, it’s me, Crowley, the one and only.”

A pause. “You sound a bit off.”

“You know, it’s the—the wireless up here. Wifi all over the place. Does funny things to the sinuses.”

“Right.” Turnscrew sounded uncertain, but Crowley had said that most demons, like angels, had a tenuous grasp on technology. “Anyway, I wanted to invite you to collaborate on a charity that’s ripe for corrupting. Want to set up a meeting soon? We could brainstorm?”

Unfortunately, Hell was starting to rival Heaven in its love of bureaucracy and buzzwords.

“Oh, ah, you know how it is, you get busy with—with—”

Crowley held up a book.

“—travel guides.”

“Travel guides?” said Turnscrew.

“No, no, I mean—” Aziraphale closed his eyes against Crowley’s urgent gestures. “Top ten lists. Saying that this pub or that fountain is better than another, and it sets people to trying to undermine the other. Quite wrapped up in that, I’m afraid. You’ll have to corrupt the charity yourself. I believe in you, old chap. Er,” He paused at Crowley slapping his hand to his face. “I mean, do something rotten, babe.”

Aziraphale hung up.

Crowley sat in stunned silence. The silence was forgivable; the stunned attitude was not.

 _Babe?_ he mouthed.

“I panicked, all right?”

Crowley shook his head, then started laughing silently. His shoulders shook and his grin stretched across his face. Soon, he was clutching his stomach and leaning over the side of the armchair. All in complete silence.

He recovered enough to sign quickly: his pinkie, pointer finger, and thumb all flashed by in quick succession. Aziraphale wasn’t sure at the precise meaning, but it seemed positive. Perhaps even congratulatory.

“Thank you,” he said, earning another disbelieving head shake. “Next time, perhaps you could text your cohorts? I hear that’s what all the young people are doing these days.” He held out Crowley’s phone.

Crowley stared at the phone for a long moment, then slowly took it back. Without looking up at Aziraphale, he tapped at the screen, eventually holding it up for Aziraphale to see.

 _Sorry,_ said the text message.

“Foolish old snake,” Aziraphale said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is of course saying "I love you" in ASL.

**Author's Note:**

> Look for me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/alex_caligari) or [Tumblr](http://alexcaligari.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> See the whole card [here](http://alexcaligari.tumblr.com/post/177425414420/i-got-my-bad-things-happen-bingo-card-ill-be) and feel free to leave me prompts!


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